


no goodbyes

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Agender Character, Cunnilingus, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:50:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jezebel Hawke is off to Orlais. Arishok comes to give her a sendoff. She gives em one instead. Maybe they both give each other one, simultaneously. You tell me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no goodbyes

Carver was to be Viscount — a mage ruling the city, and such a formidable one, too, with an equally-formidable sister taking Meredith’s unexpectedly-vacated place as Knight-Commander. More than Kirkwall could have asked for, and more than they expected, but surely they must realise what happens when the Hawkes get involved.

Carver still wasn’t acclimated to the Keep, although Jezebel had advised that he become acquainted with it before his official inauguration. As it were, Jez spent more time here than her brother, playing liaison and diplomat for frustrated nobles looking to get their homes repaired and complaining about the soot in their lungs.

 _There’s worse than that in your lungs already, considering all the cheap perfumes you use,_ she thinks haughtily to herself as she pulls open the door to the throne room, having left her fox-fur coat behind. The nobles are gone now, for the night, hovering in the foyer in whispering knots or already heading back to their dwellings, temporary or otherwise.

The nobles are gone, but the place where the viscount holds court isn’t empty. A large figure perches on the steps to the elevated platform, shoulders hunched and elbows resting on spread knees, a pair of horns curving away from a hooded brow.

"How did you get in here?" Jezebel gasps, closing the door behind her with a sharp bang.

"I walked, Serah Hawke," Arishok responds, raising eir head.

"You know that’s not what I mean," she retorts, striding forward, pressing a hand under her breast where her heart is still speeding after such a start. "When did you get back to Kirkwall? Did anyone see you walk in?"

"Of course they saw me. They were powerless to stop me." Arishok is as impossibly big as she remembers, and _dark_ under the dimmed lights, dark in eir leather and paint, eir white hair electric in comparison. “I hear you will be leaving Kirkwall.”

"Yes." She stops a few steps below em, face upturned. She can see eir eyes now, steady and slow to blink, tracking her every motion, no matter how minuscule. "Carver will be viscount. I have… a bid to make, in Orlais."

"And I have no power in Orlais." Contempt curls around the name of the country as ey speaks it, eir lip twisting accordingly, and Jez can’t entirely suppress her amusement.

"So have you come to say goodbye to me, then? My Qunari suitor?"

"There are no goodbyes. There is only _panahedan,_ and that is not goodbye.” Arishok shifts, so that ey are leaning on one elbow, eir legs spread carelessly. Jez smiles again, in remembrance.

"The last time we were like this, I was about to let Anders kill you," she laughs, and Arishok nods. "I could kill you now. You’re alone. Undefended." She steps between eir legs, pretending to search em with her eyes, to look for weapons. "I could smother you, leave your body here for the cleanup crew and go off to Orlais, and no one would ever be the wiser."

"Smother me," Arishok repeats, incredulously, watching her as she lifts her skirts to step over em, one booted foot on either side of eir expansive torso. "I fail to see how that would be accomplished, Hawke."

"Jezebel. I am not a bird." She steps further, lifting her skirts higher, and Arishok’s fingers twitch towards her leg as if to grasp it, or caress it. Eir gaze is keener now, locking onto hers for a moment before she plants her feet on either side of eir head, eir head which is now directly between her knees. "If you fail to see how I could smother you, then it’s just as I thought — you Qunari have no imagination."

She sinks, slowly, her thighs quivering just barely as her weight sinks unsupported. She hears an intake of breath as if Arishok has just caught her meaning, and smiles with almost-closed eyes as eir large hand slides up her thigh and eir breath soughs out on the exhale, feathering over her tingling nether skin. She isn’t wearing smalls because Bodahn had been slow with the laundering, and she is ever so glad for that.

Her knees touch the low-pile carpet at the same time her cunt touches eir mouth, and she settles with a sigh as Arishok’s tongue slips between her lips.

Eir one hand supports her as she rolls and grinds her hips, but the heat spreading from her groin weakens her muscles, and she reaches out for something to hold onto. Her hands slide over the ridged hardness of Arishok’s horns, and she closes her fingers around them, spreading her thighs wide and gasping as eir tongue pushes into her.

Ey don’t seem to tire, even though the position should have been uncomfortable; eir head remains steady and eir tongue doesn’t falter, alternately spreading wide and flat to lave her from back to front and tightening sharp and precise to circle her clit or thrust into her. At one point ey hum in approval of her response, and the sound jolts her like a mage’s lightning bolt. She shudders and bears down with a whine, hands clenching around eir horns, thighs quivering and sweat beading hotly on her forehead.

She tries to stutter out when she is about to come, but only gets as far as “I- I— _oh—”_ before Arishok’s tongue pulsing against her clit pushes her over the edge, a shudder racking her from scalp to curled toes, her thighs squeezing eir head and keeping it steady as she rocks hard against eir tongue and nose and chin. “Fuck,” she sobs out as she trembles with the aftershocks, “fuck.”

She can barely toddle off em before sinking to the floor of the platform with a groan, her body aching sweetly and every movement feeling like an electric jolt to her cunt. “Panahedan _that,”_ she breathes, and Arishok snorts eir amusement, licking eir lips.


End file.
